Niccolò rides swiftly back the way he came. The black horse they gave him is strong, agile, sensitive, intelligent—a true joy to ride. He sets out at a gallop. He’s traveled a great deal in the name of the Republic and always in a hurry, but this time he is rushing back because he is impatient to see Dianora. Now that he has seen where she lived, he feels incredibly close to her.
In his exuberance, he rides the horse off the beaten path and across the flatlands, the black steed responding quickly to all his desires. Niccolò whoops with pleasure to ride so fast, he stands in his stirrups, then sits again; he feels at one with the sensitive steed, a centaur.
He sees a row of vines. Instead of avoiding the obstacle, he rushes toward it. The black horse gallops hard, with precision and care; in the instant that Niccolò conceives of and signals the command, the horse leaps off the ground and lightly and effortlessly clears the row of vines, landing a good distance ahead. But when the horse’s front hooves sink a little into the earth, Niccolò almost loses his balance, his body still hurtling forward from the jump. He quickly realizes that he shouldn’t have taken such a big risk, and his heart starts to beat wildly in his chest. Slowly, reason returns to him and he goes back to trotting safely along the path for carts and merchants.
He thinks about Dianora. He will need to meet secretly with her again to obtain further information, and this worries him because she expects so much from him. He will have to encourage her, he will have to keep deceiving her. He knows it’s his duty, but it will also expose her to even greater risks than the ones she is currently running.
Should he keep his distance? It would be safer for her but more dangerous for Florence. And yet, Dianora wants nothing more than to hurt Valentino, and has every right to feel that way. Essentially, it is a race against time. Although Borgia seems to be charmed by her now, as soon as he tires of her, he might have her killed. Then again, he might not. It’s hard to say. Apparently, other girls that he has captured during his sieges are still alive. He may even keep other spoils of war scattered around other cities in Romagna.
Her beauty is her condemnation. When she walks into a room, even the air itself lights up. In this, her strength is also her weakness.
As he indulges in recalling her physical traits, he notices that he has unconsciously crossed a line: he has always been careful about not getting too attached to any one woman, precisely because he is so attracted to the fairer sex. This was the case even with Marietta. He knew that he would be able to live with her, thereby guaranteeing her the stability that is expected from both husband and father, only if he were able to keep his deeper sentiments under control. But with Dianora, this is not easy. She has broken through his defenses. He doesn’t desire her anymore—how could he possibly?—he feels the power of her spirit. He wishes he could protect her, but that’s both impossible and dangerous. She could lead him to make a mistake, and he simply can’t let himself lose control of the situation. He must remember to use her only as much as she is needed for his mission and keep his distance.
Never let your guard down, Niccolò tells himself. Valentino is always watching. He has been watching this whole time from Imola, manipulating Niccolò even though he promised him complete freedom. Borgia is like a spider weaving a web, day in and day out: first with the secretary of the castellan, who waited for him in Forlì and forced him to accept his hospitality; then through the message sent to Cesena and Ramiro de Lorqua, who addressed him by his first name; then by placing the book by Plutarch in his hands. Nothing was done by chance. Valentino was capable of manipulating Niccolò’s thoughts so that he would write what the prince wanted. Dianora was right when she said to be careful and not to trust him.
The black horse is drenched with sweat; lather has formed on its shoulders, neck and even its head. Its breathing comes rapidly and raucously. Niccolò pats the horse with gratitude and it flicks its ear and nickers. Soon Niccolò arrives at the post house where he will spend the night. He dismounts, leaves the horse in the care of the stablemen, asks for some food, and continues to wonder . . . Had he been tricked into sleeping in the room where Dianora’s family had stayed? Was he being tested? Had someone been following him? No, he’s almost certain that this was not the case. He had been very careful, especially in Forlì. Maybe it had been a mistake to accept Borgia’s invitation and travel through Romagna. There could be consequences for him later on. The letter that Valentino had sent to him in Cesena was surely copied into the archives of the Duchy, as dictated by protocol. It would come out sooner or later, and it could be used against him when he returns to Florence. If it does, he’ll need to invent an excuse to give to Soderini. He’ll need to say that he was indulging the Prince’s whims, which also allowed him to move freely through Romagna and observe how many troops he had in the various cities.
Even worse, the people in Florence might learn that he agreed to write a biography of the duke and use this against him. If that were to happen, Niccolò would say that he played along with Borgia, and even encouraged him, so that he could gain his confidence and find out his secrets, that he was just following the gonfalonier’s orders. The worst thing that could happen is that they ask him to return the money he received from the duke. While this would certainly be unfortunate, he would get over it. Once poor, always poor. The only problem was that he had already spent a fair amount of it.
Niccolò sits at a table on one side of the room. The roast veal is tasty and cooked to perfection, but he barely savors it because of his concerns. Suddenly, it dawns on him that he must leave Imola as quickly as possible. He needs to request to be summoned back to Florence.
Absorbed in his thoughts, Niccolò is unaware that a tough-looking man of about forty is watching him.
The man approaches and sits down. “How’s the food, Chancellor?” he whispers.
Niccolò almost chokes on a morsel and spits it out.
“Don’t worry! If I had wanted to poison you, you’d already be dead. I’ve been waiting for you for two days. I knew you would come through here on your way back to Imola,” the man says.
Niccolò regains his composure and peers with curiosity at the stranger. The man glances around the room. The other diners are all far away, but he lowers his voice just the same.
“I need to speak to you in private. My name is Fosco Tinardeschi. I used to fight for Valentino.”
Even though Niccolò has never met him, he knows the name. They say he’s a soldier of exceptional courage and fights for Vitellozzo. Why is he in enemy territory?
They take their conversation outside, under a tree, where they are somewhat concealed by darkness.
“I fought hard for Borgia under the leadership of my condottiere, Vitelli. But like him and many others I have had to distance myself from Cesare. The man is a fiend, a dragon, we were afraid that he would devour us all, one after the other. Instead, we chose to band together to fight him. And now we’re winning.”
“You are?”
“Yes! You must have heard how he lost Urbino. We’re getting stronger every day, even around here, where he thinks he’s in control. You have no idea how easy it is to travel in secrecy down the backroads, how many people here in Romagna are ready to rebel . . . ”
“I learned that many people appreciate him.”
Tinardeschi shrugs. “It’s easy to trick people, but when Valentino loses his next battle, they’ll come to their senses, and shift their allegiances to our side. We’ll attack him when and where he least expects it. By the end of the year he’ll be gone. We already have a strong enough army to do it. He himself fears us.”
“Perhaps you underestimate him.”
“No. The timing is perfect. I come to you because we want to offer your Republic a second chance at joining forces with us against him. We think you’ll accept when you see what we are capable of.”
“Second chance? When was the first one?”
“More than a month ago. Didn’t you know? Well, it doesn’t matter. Write to the gonfalonier or to the Dieci and tell them you met with me today. I represent everyone fighting against Borgia.”
“But Vitelli is an enemy of Florence . . . ”
“Not when faced with such a danger. As I already said, this situation has been building for some time. Uniting forces would be good for both of us.”
Niccolò looks at him with genuine surprise. Something else that Soderini hid from him . . . Is the gonfalonier merely using him as a pawn in the game? Will Florence unite forces with members of this alliance? If so, which ones? They’re all connected somehow, either complicitly or by blood. Even the code numbers that represent them are sequential: 21, Vitellozzo Vitelli, Count of Montone, lord of Città di Castello, Monterchi, and Anghiari, son-in-law of 22; Paolo Orsini, lord of Mentana and Marquis of Atripalda, cousin of 23; Francesco Orsini, Duke of Gravina, who wanted to marry Lucrezia Borgia, Cesare’s sister; 24, Oliverotto Euffreducci, lord of Fermo, brother-in-law of Vitelli; 25, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Orsini, who conspires with them from Rome; 26, Giampaolo Baglioni, Count of Bettona, lord of Perugia; 27, Pandolfo Petrucci, who rules over Siena; 28, Giovanni Bentivoglio, lord of Bologna.
Is there a weak link in the chain? Yes, 22, Paolo Orsini, but Valentino is already dealing with him. Unless Orsini is playing both sides.
“Did you hear what I said, Machiavelli?”
“Of course. I’ll write to Florence.”
“Why are you smiling? What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m not. I was just thinking.”